


Of Chances, Illogic, and Cliches

by VictoriaG16



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaG16/pseuds/VictoriaG16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they ever needed was a chance, however illogical and cliche it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Chances, Illogic, and Cliches

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not be high off my allergy meds and tired from being in a car for three hours today.
> 
> This is largely unedited. You have been warned.
> 
> edit 7/26/15: 1. @ past me u cant get high off ur allergy meds wtf were u thinking. 2. i briefly considered deleting this bc i've gone on a spree of deleting/editing the tags on all my ao3 works but y'know i kinda like this.

Nyota stretched her arms above her head, giving a hearty yawn. Her dark eyes flicked to the chronometer behind Spock's head; it was just past 2300 hours and now past curfew. And the pile of essays the pair were reviewing to present to a council as "Starfleet Academy's Finest" was still quite large. Larger still was the pile that would never be presented to the council.

"Shit," Nyota muttered, "it's past curfew." Spock looked up from the PADD he was reading from and up at the chronometer.

"You appear tired. Would you like to return to your dormitory for the night? I will complete these on my own," he suggested.

Nyota shook her head, black locks that had long ago come loose from her ponytail dancing across her shoulders. "Would you mind if I made some tea?" Spock nodded in response and she stood to prepare the hot drink. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thank you," he answered, trying not to notice the light way she walked in her sock-covered feet. He failed at that small endeavor. She returned a few moments later, holding a steaming mug and resumed reading the essay she had left.

* * *

 

"God, who taught these people how to write?" Nyota wondered aloud, putting aside yet another dreadful essay. "I sometimes think that ten year olds could write with less cliches."

"And more logical points," Spock added. "However, it greatly reduces the amount of essays we will have to decide between to present to the council."

"I guess that's the optimistic look on this."

"And what would be the pessimistic?"

"I believe I feel my intelligence lowering the more of these I read," Nyota answered, only half joking. The choppy sentence structure and rudimentary diction _were_ giving her a headache.

"This is the last one," Spock commented, holding up the very last PADD.

"Shall we read it together?"

"I have no objections."

Nyota moved closer to Spock so she could see the PADD as well. Their proximity brought both heart rates up, his arm braced against the floor and her leaning in over the PADD. From a particular vantage point, it might have looked as if he had his arm around her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the words, barely registering in her bleary mind. All she caught was a lot of filler that vaguely concerned the topic. Spock had a look Nyota would call displeasure, if he would ever admit to experiencing such a thing. "Absolutely not," Nyota said, before she was half-way finished.

"I agree." He set the PADD down with the larger of the two piles. They both turned their attention to the group of possible essays.

"We need eight and no more to send to the council," Nyota recalled.

"And yet there are nine," Spock finished.

They arranged the nine PADDs so that all the essays were visible and they could debate which to not send. Nyota laid down on her stomach with a small sigh. Spock, sitting cross-legged and with back straight, felt his willpower give way a little as he observed her push her hair back from her face with a strong hand. Her hands were somewhat of a fascination for him; small and almost delicate, but strong and sure. He sometimes thought of her index and middle fingers and how they'd feel against his...

But now was not the time for such thoughts of his aide. No, they should focus on deciding which essay was most unsatisfactory, then he would walk her back to her dormitory (so she wouldn't be caught by security, not that he had some cliche prince-charming-esque urge to walk her home), he would return, alternate between meditating and sleeping until 0600 hours, then he would get on with his day. He would not be kissing -- Vulcan or otherwise -- his aide. That would be highly illogical.

In his reassurance that he was not having any inappropriate emotions for Nyota, he had missed half of her ramble about the nine essays. She was pointing to one, citing several weaker sentences.

"Yes, I agree," Spock said, picking up the final essay and relocating it to the other pile. "These will be handed back to the cadets tomorrow -- "

"Today," she corrected, gesturing to the chronometer. It read 0112 hours.

" -- today," Spock amended, "and the other eight authors of these essays will be instructed to revise their works and resubmit them."

Nyota nodded in agreement. "If it means I can go to sleep now, I'm all for it."

"Unless you wish to sleep here, which I do not reccomend, you will have to return to your dormitory before you can sleep."

Nyota laughed, pulling her hair into its usual ponytail. "An excellent point. Since it's well after curfew, would you care to walk me back? I'd rather not earn a demerit."

"It is no problem," Spock replied, rising and donning his jacket, as Nyota tugged hers on as well. Despite the oncoming springtime, the weather was still very damp and cold, especially for a native of Vulcan and a native of Africa. Both were hunched against the chill as they left Spock's quarters.

Somewhere along the walk, they moved closer. Neither could say when this had occured, nor that it was unenjoyable.

As they approached Nyota's dormitory building, she stopped and turned to Spock. "Thank you for walking me home. I'll be okay from here."

Spock nodded, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He, for some unknown reason, was fighting the urge to touch her. Just to reach his fingers out and brush them against her wrist where her jacket slid up her arms -- to feel her pulsing warmth under his hand, to feel her breath on his cheek, to _feel_ her there with him, not just see her or smell her peppermint breath or hear her slightly raspy voice. 

"Goodnight," he called to her retreating figure.

She stopped and turned back. "Goodnight, Spock," was her reply.

"Goodnight, Nyota," he whispered to himself as he walked back to his own quarters. Quite illogical, as she would not be able to hear him. But he liked the way her name felt on tongue and that he was only saying goodnight; he would see her tomorrow. How cliche of him.

* * *

 

"So how was your evening?" Nyota asked Gaila, who was sprawled across her comforter with a PADD discarded on her pillow beside her head.

"Bland. I've been reviewing these schematics of some new warp core designs. They've made about three minor changes. _So_ important." Galia had mastered sarcasm like the best of any human young adults.

Nyota laughed. "That's engineers for you. You'll be one."

"Ew. I'll be a decent one, at least." Galia wrinkled her nose. "What about your night? You and Commander Spock seemed to spend quite a bit of time together." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, but stopped when a pillow was thrown at her from her roommate.

"We graded horrible essays."

"How seductive."

"Well, how _seductive_ would you expect him to be?"

"You'd be surprised with Vulcans. They can be very sexy. You should give Commander Spock a chance."

"You're saying I should sleep with the instructor who I am an aide for."

"Not if you're not comfortable with it. I know humans have this taboo thing with sex."

"It's not like I find him completely repulsive or anything, he's really very attractive. Maybe it's not that I won't give him a chance, it's that he won't give me a chance."

Galia stood up and looked her roommate, her friend, in the eye, "Like I said, don't count him out before you really truly give it a try."

Nyota thought on this as she took a shower. And the more she thought of it, the stranger the thought of a relationship with Spock seemed -- and the more desirable. So she went to sleep that night with wet hair and thoughts of Vulcans and how they communicate emotions. Very cliche, and she was tired of cliches after reading more than twenty essays of them.

* * *

 

Spock did not sleep. Nor did he meditate; his mind was seemingly very uncontrollable tonight. It was quite inhibiting.

Sighing, he stood to check his comm. Three new messages. Only one of them interested him; the sender label read "Amanda Grayson." He opened it and listened to his mother's soft voice telling of the hot day on Vulcan and about the goings-on of the city. As usual, her message made no mention of Sarek. She prefered to keep the subject of the father and son's disputes out of her conversations, as it only made her upset.

Spock replied, answering her concerned questions about his wellbeing and work. He cleared his throat. Why did he suddenly feel like he needed to drink some water? He ended his message by sending his love to his mother and then sending it. There would be no mention of his inability to sleep nor his emotions. He would not worry her.

Why were his thoughts filled with _her_? Her dark, smooth hair that sometimes curled into tight ringlets in humidity. Her brown eyes that were so full of light. Her voice. Her feet. Her laugh. The one time her hand had touched his as they had exchanged a PADD. Very simple, seemingly random memories and instances where he could recall every detail of her.

He wanted her. Maybe not sexually, but he wanted to hold her close and to run his fingers through her hair and to hold her hand in his.

But he could not.

This was illogical. She was his aide and nothing more.

But she could be more if he would allow the chance.

* * *


End file.
